


Horsin' Around

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Fear of Insects, Fox Mulder's panic face, Gen, Horseback Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: “Honestly, the best way to get there is to ride out,” the local sheriff had told them.  “I still think it was a cougar, maybe a bear.  Nothing the FBI would need to investigate.  But if you’re serious, well, there ain’t roads to speak of.  The local dude ranch will lend us some transport.”
Kudos: 5





	Horsin' Around

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: season 6 or so  
> A/N: For wtfmulder who wanted to see Mulder run faster than a horse

“Honestly, the best way to get there is to ride out,” the local sheriff had told them. “I still think it was a cougar, maybe a bear. Nothing the FBI would need to investigate. But if you’re serious, well, there ain’t roads to speak of. The local dude ranch will lend us some transport.”

That had been a couple of hours ago. They’d been escorted out to the dude ranch. Scully had had to borrow clothes from one of the smaller hands, lacking riding clothes of her own. The woman - called Rusty, for her own dark red curls - had snorted when Scully had offered to go back into town and buy jeans. “You’ll want something broken in,” she’d said. “This isn’t a half-hour trail.” So Scully was wearing Rusty’s jeans and boots and her own crisp dress shirt with a barn jacket over it. She had a hat, too. “I don’t need sunscreen the way you do,” Rusty had teased her, “but I can’t lend you any of this melanin.” Scully had emerged from the bunk house feeling like Halloween had come early. Mulder had eyed her up and down and she’d glared at him. The gear was definitely more comfortable than dress pants, and more appropriate for the occasion, since she was already covered in horsehair and dust. The denim of Rusty’s jeans was worn soft and supple. The boots hugged Scully’s feet.

Riding was easier than she’d thought it would be. She’d needed a little boost to get on the horse, but the saddle was deep and her feet felt secure in the stirrups. She held the reins by the horn, like she’d been told, so she didn’t pull on the horse’s mouth. Being on the horse was strange. It swayed its way up the trail, not in the least like a boat, but that was her closest frame of reference. It was warm and alive under her, even through all the layers of leather and padding. It went where she guided it, but it was so much stronger than she was. Her hips were going to ache later from the way her legs stretched around the horse’s barrel. She could already tell.

They’d been riding for a couple of hours up a steadily steeper trail when they reached a little clearing with a stream running through it. “We’ll rest here a couple of minutes,” the sheriff told them, swinging down off his horse with an ease Scully knew she wasn’t going to be able to emulate. “Give the horses some water. You can relieve yourselves in the woods if you need, and I happen to know that Rusty always makes sure there’s a canteen and some beef jerky for the, uh, out of towners.”

Mulder (that asshole, Scully though privately, with his Oxford education and his polo pony friends) dismounted easily and led his horse over to the stream. Scully leaned forward, the horn jabbing her in the stomach as she clutched it, and kicked her booted foot out of the stirrup. She heaved her leg over the high back of the saddle with some effort and dropped to the ground. Her left foot was still in the stirrup; she pushed the stirrup away as the horse stood patiently. She was glad they’d given her one of the ones for stupid greenhorns. She tugged gently on the reins and her horse followed her to the stream, nudging gently at her shoulder. Mulder’s horse was already nose-deep in the stream, snuffling and slobbering.

Mulder turned to smile at her from under the brim of his baseball cap (of course he’d brought jeans, he always had something casual to throw on for their grubbier adventures). He put his fingers in the water of the stream and opened his mouth, about to say something, and then he screamed, a sharp high note. His horse spooked back as Mulder exploded up from the bank of the stream and tore ass out of the clearing. His horse thundered after him, but Mulder, somehow, was outrunning it. Scully stood with her hands on her hips, staring after him, her thoughts wordless with mystification and shock. She’d always known he was leggy and a runner, but she hadn’t known he could sprint like this. The horse had stopped. Mulder was still running. Well, at least he had endurance.

“Mulder,” she called after him, not really trying. The sheriff was already back on his horse.

“Stay here if you would, Agent Scully,” he said over his shoulder. “And if you could hold onto Socks when he finds his way back, I’d be grateful. He doesn’t like to be alone, you see, so I imagine he’ll come back to see his buddy there.” He nodded at her horse, who had hardly even stepped back when Mulder had bolted. 

“I’ll do that,” she said. 

“They’re trained to ground tie,” the sheriff said, swinging his horse up the trail. “If your arm gets tired, just drop the reins. He won’t move.” He nudged the horse’s ribs with his heels and trotted up the trail.

“Okay then,” Scully said to her horse. “Alone in the woods with something that made Mulder run away screaming. We should probably check that out, huh?” The horse whuffled at her obligingly. She led it to the stream, watching her step. She didn’t see any tracks next to Mulder’s jumbled footsteps. She let her horse drop its head and drink. Scully scanned the area. Nothing. And then, a flicker of movement in the water - a shiny brown back and jointed legs. A giant water bug. 

Something bumped her back and she startled, but it was only the other horse, Socks, lipping at the fabric of her shirt. 

“At least one of you has sense,” Scully said, picking up the trailing reins. “I know he doesn’t like bugs, but this is ridiculous.” Socks snorted slime in agreement. “You said it, buddy.” She patted his neck. “Now we wait, huh?”

She’d had worse stakeouts than a quiet mountain clearing with a creek and a breeze and a couple of horses. She rummaged in the saddle bag for the beef jerky Rusty had packed and gnawed thoughtfully on a salty shred of it. Yeah, she was doing all right for a person en route to a possible murder scene, and she certainly had some vivid new images of Mulder to consider. She dropped the horses’ reins, keeping an eye on them, and leaned against a tree to enjoy her jerky.


End file.
